


Sordid Fragments

by Terion



Series: The Inquisition's Mercenaries [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Elven Alienages, Everyone Has Issues, Explicit Language, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mercenaries, Meryell has a Foul Mouth - You Have Been Warned, Original Character(s), Original City Elf Inquisitor, Original Mercenary Company, POV Alternating, Self-Doubt, Sexual Content, adopted families, elven language, past bad relationships, past emotional abuse, the canon timeline makes no sense travelwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8235233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terion/pseuds/Terion
Summary: Fragments and snapshots of happenings during the story of Meryell, told from the perspective of everyone but her and Cullen. Updates sporadically.





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> This started from me first wondering what Cassandra's reaction had been to Meryell falling out of the rift after the destruction of the Temple and it has just expanded from there. Each chapter will have the person it is being told by as the first part of the title, followed by a quote from them picked out of the chapter (the exact same way I've done Sordid's chapters).
> 
>  ~~As I post more of these, I may put a list as the first chapter with a brief description of when it occurs during the story. These may also, to note, not be posted in the order which they occur. I have several fragments planned to write already but I may come up with more than fit in between those as this goes on.~~ A table of contents has been added.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to the fact that these chapters may or may not be posted in the actual order they fall in chronologically, here's a table of contents to keep track of what goes where and when it was posted.
> 
> New chapters will have their text in bold, the last chapter posted before the latest will be in italics.

### Pre-Haven and Chapter 1 of the Sordid Tale

Folke : “Forgive an old man for worrying about his little girl.” [ Oct 7 2016 ]  
Cassandra : “I am not in the mood for your antics, Varric.” [ Oct 16 2016 ]  
Leliana : “I think that we do not yet have all of the pieces.” [ Dec 11 2016 ]  
Solas : “You closed the rift." [ Nov 21 2016 ]

### Post Chapter 1 of the Sordid Tale

_Varric : “Guess we'll see how it'll work out." [ Jan 11 2017 ]  
_ **Rylen : “Just a friend my fucking foot.” [ Mar 13 2017 ]**


	2. Folke : “Forgive an old man for worrying about his little girl.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before and after the destruction of the Conclave with Folke.

“I don’t see what you’re fucking worried about,  _ baba _ ,” groused Meryell as she tucked another folded tunic into her pack. “It’s just another job.”

Folke huffed in response and leaned back against the wall where he sat on her bed. There really wasn’t enough room for both of them to be in the little room down in the bowels of the keep. Shit, there was barely enough room for  _ one _ to occupy the little space that was leftover from the few furnishing she had.

She turned to look at him from where she stood on the other side of the little room, her pack propped up on top of her bookshelf as she moved between it and her trunk. Frowning, Meryell cocked her head at him and he watched the tip of her ears twitch. “You’re  _ worried _ ,” she said almost teasingly. “About me going on a job.”

“About you going to steal something from a place that’s crawling with  _ templars _ ,” he replied, trying not to let his tone of voice go clipped and fierce.

“There are mages there too,  _ baba _ .”

“ _ That _ does not reassure me.”

Sighing, she abandoned her packing and came over to the bed, crawling up to sit beside him. Folke let out a huff of breath and shifted to his left just enough that he could loop his arm over her shoulders. Using it to pull her close to his side, he turned his head towards her and rested his forehead against her temple.

“Forgive an old man for worrying about his little girl,” he muttered.

Meryell’s hand found his other then, drawing it across his lap so she could lace her fingers with his. Their joined hands rested between them now, sitting on top of where her thigh sat flush against his.

“Always,  _ baba _ ,” she said warmly and he couldn’t help but smile.

He’d never imagined himself with children and had always done his damndest to make sure that he didn’t inadvertently father one on some unsuspecting lass. One never knew what latent magic lay within a bloodline and he wasn’t about to take the chance that his little skill might spark a sudden revival. Growing up the way he had had been tough enough, what with the periodic hiding from templars that he and his family had had to do. Then he’d left to see what the world had for a half-Chasind wild boy and he’d  _ seen _ the children dragged away, watching as parents abandoned their flesh and blood without a tear or sunk to their knees in sorrow.

It had been enough to put fear in his heart. Especially since he’d already sworn to himself to never go back into hiding in the woods again.

Then he’d found the company and the blood he’d spilled during those first years, before Arnald had taken the vote for the Captaincy...he believed it had ruined him. How could a man who’d done as many terrible thing as he’d done excuse those things? How could he bear to hold an innocent child in his hands and know that somewhere back down the line he’d robbed a similar child of a mother or father?

And then... _ Meryell _ . Meryell had been unexpected and unwelcome. He’d started out just looking after her for the sake of having been the one to recruit her, as the Captain had declared recruiters were responsible for their recruits for the first year. It hadn’t ended after that first year though, not for either of them. The rest, as the saying went, was history.

Now he wouldn’t give her up for the world. Not even at the point of a sword.

“I mean,” she continued, dragging him out of his reverie, “what sort of trouble could I get into with templars this time? I won’t have you at my hip.”

Folke pulled back and arched his eyebrows at her, replying, “I seem to recall  _ you _ being the one to attract the attention of the templars the last time we were out together. By throwing yourself out of a window onto two of them on the street below.”

“And then you threw a fireball at the shithead that I was trying to outrun when he came out the window after me,” pointed out Meryell.

He couldn’t argue with that. Admittedly, though, he hadn’t recognized that the two  _ were _ templars because he hadn’t seen them from his vantage point in another window. He’d merely had a good angle on the fucker who’d been after her and he’d let loose.

“Fine,” he grumbled, tapping his fingers against her shoulder errantly. “Still, you should be careful. They’re going to no doubt be the security in the Temple and I doubt that simply explaining that you aren’t a mage will get you off the hook if you’re caught stealing.”

“Have I  _ ever _ been caught stealing?” she asked with more than a hint of pride and he scowled, tugging her hand in his down to rap her knuckles lightly against his knee.

Folke frowned seriously at her as he pointed out, “Don’t  _ invite _ trouble,  _ ara vherain. _ That’s how you get yourself killed.”

She blinked at him and instantly lost her joking demeanor, saying softly, “You really  _ are _ worried.” Then Meryell frowned and asked, “Bad feeling?”

It was a running joke amongst the company and had been since he’d joined up far too long ago.  _ You watch out when Folkey says he’s got a bad feeling, enfants _ , the old second Noralt had used to say with a grin to the new recruits, clapping a hand on his shoulder. _ That means that the Maker’s put the nug amongst the wolves. _

His mother had called it a gift of the gods. His father, sensible Fereldan man that he was, had called it a Wilds wyrding. From the old word for  _ fate _ .

He didn’t always get it when something was going to go shit spit up the river. Noralt’s death hadn’t had any warning feelings and neither had Tobik’s five years past. Nor when that templar had caught him and Meryell and nearly did away with them both if not for his girl’s quick thinking.

Ever since Arnald had given her the job that had come in, though, his stomach had been in knots and there was an ache inside him in that peculiar place that wasn’t a place where his mana pooled.

“Bad feeling,” he replied weakly as he nodded.

“Bad enough to not go? Or send someone else?”

“No, no,” insisted Folke, shaking his head. “You  _ are _ the best thief we’ve got, Poppet, so it’s you that needs to go. And jobs a job. This is just…” He shook his head and forced a smile at her. “It’s surely just worries.”

Meryell didn’t look entirely convinced - she’d been there when his feelings had paid off - so he hugged her shoulders and turned his head to kiss her temple. “Don’t let an old man’s worries make you start worrying before your time,” he muttered fondly.

She huffed a laugh and elbowed him lightly in the ribs as she replied, “You know I always worry about you when I’m gone,  _ ha’ishan _ . Without me, you end up getting yourself fucking arrested.”

“I could say the same of you!”

“At least  _ I _ have gotten out of most of my arrests on my own.”

“ _ Most _ ,” pressed Folke with a smile and earned another elbow in the ribs for it. He then patted her shoulder and said, “You need to finish getting packed. It’s a bit of a trip to get to the Frostbacks.”

Smirking at him, she asked, “Are you going to remind me to take a cloak too,  _ baba _ ?”

“No,” he replied with a light swat to her arm, “I expect my own damned child to know better than to go to somewhere called the  _ Frostbacks _ without a fucking cloak.” That made her laugh and she turned to kiss his cheek, her lips carefully avoiding the puckered lines of his scar the way they always did.

“I’ll be fine,” Meryell said reassuringly before she scooted off the bed to head back to her packing. Folke just nodded in return and took his leave of the room, trying to ignore the ache inside that he couldn’t do a damned thing about.

* * *

Almost four weeks later the news came that the Conclave had been destroyed.

Folke stared at the Captain after he’d relayed the news to what of the company was in the keep, his head suddenly feeling like it was full of wool. He felt hands on his arms, on his shoulders, but they were irrelevant.

“Meryell,” he croaked, trying to have his voice heard over everyone else’s. He couldn’t hear himself, however, couldn’t know if he was whispering or shouting really. Though he did register everyone turning to look at him and  _ sorrow _ on the Captain’s face where he stood above them all.

_ No. _

“Folke,” breathed Evune’s voice in his ear and she was suddenly in front of him, her arms around his chest. He stared at her for a long moment and  _ ached _ because he wanted her features to be younger, to be a shade or two lighter in skin tone, for her eyes to be copper and green and not piercing blue. Wanted longer ears and haphazardly cut brown hair and the pleasant sound of a Ferelden accent washed with so many other influences and not the slight burr of Dalish tones. “Come.”

“No!” he exclaimed, reaching up to grab her upper arms in his, knowing instantly by the grimace on her face that he grabbed too hard. He tried to soften his grip but he  _ couldn’t _ , not with his heart in a vice like it was. “Meryell…”

She just looked at him solemnly and said softly, “ _ Ar ame ir abelas, lethal’lin. _ ”

Folke shook his head at the words, refusing to believe it. “ _ Din _ ,” he whispered desperately.  _ Deny it _ , he thought frantically.  _ Please, please, deny it. _

“ _ Vin, _ ” replied Evune, as resolute as a cliff wall.

“No,” repeated Folke, as if saying the denial would make it true. He could tell his voice was cracking from the scratchiness in his throat and could feel the grief welling up, like a physical thing inside his chest. He’d  _ known _ something bad was going to happen...and he’d  _ let her go _ .

_ Why, oh why, had he let her go? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>    
>  **Elvhen/Elven translations**
> 
> Ha’ishan > old man  
> Ar ame ir abelas, lethal’lin > I am sorry, clan mate  
> Din > no  
> Vin > yes
> 
>  **French translation:**  
>  Enfants > children


	3. Cassandra : “I am not in the mood for your antics, Varric.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra waits and thinks.

The Conclave was over.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was destroyed.

The Divine was dead.

And all that Cassandra Pentaghast had was an elven woman with Dalish markings on her face who'd fallen out of one of those tears in the Veil. According to the report of the soldiers and Cullen at least.

The woman herself still hadn't woken with any clarity yet, just brief spats of mostly delirious mutterings that made no sense as she drifted back and forth between conscious and unconscious. Solas, the apostate elf who had showed up in Haven after the destruction had occurred, had been keeping an eye on her under watch of a handful of guards. He had informed her as of yesterday - day three of their wait for the woman to do more than lay there and moan - that whatever magic was on her hand was slowly killing her. 

And all she could do was stand  _ glaring _ at the Breach.

“Glaring at it won’t make it go away, Seeker.”

Letting out an exasperated breath, Cassandra growled, “I am not in the mood for your antics, Varric.”

There was only silence from the dwarf for a moment and she thought he was gone until she realized that he was standing next to her, thumbs thrust into the wide belt he wore. His eyes were on the Breach until he suddenly turned to look at her, lines she hadn’t noticed before crinkling at the corners. It was a reminder that the dwarf was her age and not younger as she had initially suspected due to his general behavior and personality.

“No antics here, Seeker,” he said and there was a note of weariness in his voice. Then he seemed to give himself a mental shake and asked, “How’s Curly with the troops out there?”

Cassandra fought to hide a grimace because the reports weren’t good. On the first day after the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, they had been hearing news like clockwork from Cullen. It had been surprising since their force was still so painfully  _ small _ but he’d rallied their men with ease, split his lieutenants off in twos to handle more minor areas while he and his captain took the bulk towards the main area affected.

By the time they reached the ruin of the temple on the second day -  _ the smell is...horrifying...and I will say no more of it _ was what Cullen had hastily written at their camp below it at the end of the first day - communication had stuttered. His immediate next missive had been four words and a set of initials.

_ There is a survivor. - CSR _

And for a moment Cassandra had clasped Leliana’s hand and they had  _ hoped _ .

Of course it had been for naught and now she was left with an unconscious woman, a dwarf she didn’t trust, an apostate that she trusted even  _ less _ , and fragmented scraps of information coming in stuttering gasps from the one force between Haven and death.

She worried, privately, that she had perhaps recruited the man from Kirkwall and had become something edging towards a friend only to carry him to his death.

All of that went through her head and Cassandra simply replied, “Not well.”

Varric snorted, though the sound wasn’t the slightest bit amused. “Well, could be worse. At least we don’t have a red lyrium statue of a madwoman in our courtyard.”

“Small blessings,” she muttered, allowing herself a small quirk to her lips at the comment.

The dwarf started to open his mouth again and she braced herself for whatever might be coming next only to have blessed interruption.

“Seeker Cassandra! Seeker Cassandra!”

Turning her back on the Breach, she strode to meet the out of breath runner and reached out automatically to steady the young man as he nearly fell. “Take a moment,” she urged him. The last thing they needed was a member -  _ any member _ \- of their fledgling group down. They were already losing soldiers like  _ flies _ to the demons despite Cullen’s best efforts.

“The...prisoner,” he gasped, his chest heaving for breath.

“She wakes?” interrupted Cassandra, urgency suddenly flaring through her. When he just nodded in response, she started to reach for his shoulders to help him sit when Varric was suddenly there on the man’s other side.

“Go, Seeker,” said the dwarf with a wave of his hand. “I’ve got him.”

For a moment she hesitated and then  _ duty _ and the flickering echo of  _ vengeance _ solidified inside her. Merely nodding at Varric and lightly clapping the runner on the shoulder, she began to make her way back towards the Chantry. As she went she heard Varric yell, “And don’t say I don’t do anything for you, Seeker!”

Growling under her breath, Cassandra put him out of her mind and focused on the task ahead. She could see Leliana standing in the open doors of the Chantry, arms folded as she waited, and wondered what they would find of their prisoner.

Murderer or victim?

As she nodded to the other woman and they fell into perfect step with each other, Left and Right Hand in sync, she knew one thing.

She would find  _ answers. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before the question gets possibly asked - since my roommate [Cilera](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CileraDragonfang) brought it up when she read this chapter - this is not the immediate scene before the in-game interrogation (Meryell is half conscious at this point). Hence the reason why Varric is still in Haven and not up on the path leading to the Temple.


	4. Leliana : “I think that we do not yet have all of the pieces.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nightingale observes that their prisoner is innocent of the crime they accuse her of but that there is far more to her than meets the eye.

“We will discover what she did!”

“Cassandra,” Leliana intoned sternly, frowning at the other woman. When the Nevarran warrior turned towards her, her face was tense and the scars made her look all the fiercer. She had a deep respect of the other woman for her skill in battle but she had always been more prone to the theory of charging right into something without first thinking it through. “We don’t know yet if we need her.”

“You think her innocent?” snapped Cassandra, scowling.

Holding up a hand, Leliana replied, “I think that we do not yet have all of the pieces.”

The Seeker scoffed at that and shook her head almost dismissively, though Leliana knew she wasn’t dismissing the idea outright. Cassandra could lay down a intricate battle plan if she could avoid charging in headfirst. It just sometimes took a moment for her to remember that bashing her shield through everything wasn’t perhaps the _best_ method of solving problems.

“What more is there to gather, Leliana?” asked the other woman. She gestured vaguely towards the direction that they both knew the ruins of the Temple lay in, though neither could see it since they were inside the Chantry. “What more _can_ be gathered in the little time that we have? We cannot linger in making a decision about her, not with the few men we have dying in droves up the mountain.”

“I am not necessarily talking about gathering pieces from elsewhere,” intoned Leliana matter-of-factly. “You already know that I have gotten what little I could that we knew from the Conclave.”

Cassandra sighed and nodded. “The group from Clan Lavellan. I am still not certain why Most Holy allowed them entry into the Conclave.”

“I believe it was more that they were seen early and their intent to merely spy upon things was ruined. I'm not certain as to what their leader said to Most Holy to have her make that decision but I can guess as to their reasons.”

That made the other woman’s face darken as she growled, “So she is a _spy_?”

Sighing, Leliana said, “Again, that is a thing we do not know.”

“Damnit, Leliana!” shouted Cassandra, slamming her fist against the closest wall. It looked like it hurt her but the Seeker plowed onward, “I need more than maybes and unknowns! Surely there is something more!”

“There is not.”

When Cassandra made like she was going to pull back to strike the wall again, Leliana stepped forward into her space and firmly pressed her fist against the wall. Anger flared through the other woman’s dark eyes as she looked up to meet her own blue in a hard stare but Leliana was not cowed by Cassandra Pentaghast.

She had stared once into the eye of Urthemiel, there on top of Fort Drakon at the Battle of Denerim, and had been seen in turn. No one and nothing she had faced in the ten years since had come anywhere close to matching the rage that had consumed the Archdemon.

“You forget, Cassandra,” she said in a low voice, “that our new elven ‘friend’ has theorized that the mark on her hand could have a connection with the Breach. No matter what she may be, if she has the capability to do something to combat it, we cannot do anything but use her.”

“Use her,” repeated Cassandra, her eyes narrowing as her ire obviously lessened a little.

“If she will not cooperate.”

Scoffing, the other woman loosened her tense stance and Leliana let her hand drop away. As Cassandra straightened back up and crossed her arms across her chest, she grunted, “You speak of blackmail.”

Leliana merely smiled serenely in reply before saying, “If that is what is needed.”

“You know I do not like those methods.”

Shrugging, she replied, “Then see that I do not need to use them. Convince her.”

Cassandra made that disgusted noise that Leliana had long ago come to connect to her and her alone before she shook her head, scoffing a laugh. “Easier said than done, Leliana. But we shall try.”

Leliana just nodded at that. Now the warrior was perhaps level-headed enough to actually face their prisoner.

“Yes,” she said as she gestured towards the open archway that would lead them down into the lower parts of the Chantry, “and I will be ready if we need to do otherwise.”

* * *

For all that she had been mostly unconscious moments ago and surrounded by four soldiers who had - up until their entrance - had their swords pointed at her, the elf looked surprisingly calm. Confused and concerned with a touch of what was perhaps pain judging by the tenseness of her jaw and the way her eyebrows dipped but calm.

This was automatically more interesting.

Leliana held back to observe as Cassandra moved forward to confront, stalking around their only suspect. She worked better from the back anyway. Not to mention that she could take notice of far more from observing that actually participating fully in the interrogation.

Such as noticing that while she leaned away from Cassandra as the warrior leaned down to sternly demand why they shouldn’t kill her, the elf didn’t flinch. _She has been threatened before. Perhaps held out. Or escaped._

“The Conclave is destroyed…”

“What?”

The elven woman interrupted Cassandra in a soft voice, her eyebrows now high in surprise and honest shock on her face. Leliana noted that her accent sounded Ferelden, perhaps with a touch of something else, but with only one word having been spoken she couldn’t be sure. Her accent certainly wasn’t Dalish, at least not of any clan that she had ever come into contact with.

Obviously she needed to branch out into the Ferelden alienages. She was perhaps, what….mid twenties? Earlier? It was harder to tell with elves.

“Destroyed,” repeated Cassandra coldly, her tone turning to accusation quickly. “Everyone who attended is dead. Except for _you_.”

The woman blinked several times, her mouth slightly open, then she closed her eyes and cursed under her breath, “Maker’s soggy asshole, I should’ve stayed home.” Then she shook herself, sitting up straighter despite the manacles connecting her to the floor, and there was fire in her eyes. “You think _I’m_ responsible? Lady, I sure as shit didn’t have anything to do with destroying _anything_.”

Cassandra sneered and reached down, grabbing their prisoner’s arm and lifting it up as she growled, “Then explain _this_.” The mark sparked as if agitated by the motion, spilling vicious sparks and green light out, and Leliana watched the woman’s face contort. It was real pain, the sort that one could not hide.

That, of course, did not necessarily make her innocent.

The elf drew her arm slightly towards her as Cassandra let it fall, cradling her marked hand as she turned it over to press a thumb against her palm. Specifically at a pressure point that Leliana knew was to ease pain, if only temporarily. “I can’t,” she growled through bared teeth.

“What do you mean you _can’t_?” snapped Cassandra back and Leliana moved forward, flashing her a warning glance over their prisoner’s head as she made a slow walk around them.

“I mean I _can’t_ shitting explain it, plain as that!” snapped the woman right back, glaring at the dark-haired woman stalking around her. She then turned her gaze towards Leliana, who noted her eyes were green, and snarled, “I don’t know what it fucking is or how it got there. And I don’t know what happened to the Conclave! You’re asking the wrong damned person!”

Leliana saw the move before Cassandra did it, already stepping forward to grab her when she hissed, “You’re lying!” and lunged towards the prisoner. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that the elf both lifted her hands to defend herself - high and in firm fists, made in the proper style of someone who had fought bare-handed before - as well as leaning back out of the possible range of Cassandra’s hands. A fighter, that much was obvious. Perhaps a rogue given her small stature?

“We _need_ her, Cassandra,” Leliana reminded firmly as she pushed the Seeker back across the room. The other woman glared at her, her jaw tense again but nodded to show she understood, and Leliana turned away to see the prisoner still with her hands held defensively. Perhaps this situation need a different touch.

“Do you remember what happened?”

The elf frowned and lowered her hands slightly, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She then turned her face slightly away, her brow creased in obvious thought, before she blinked in almost shock. “Green,” she replied softly. “I remember green and running from...something. And there was...a woman?”

“A woman?” pressed Leliana, though she glanced towards Cassandra as she did so. The reports of the soldiers who had seen her tumble out of a rift _had_ reported a figure of a woman being behind her.

Cassandra let out an impatient sound as she stalked around them before she approached Leliana. Stepping back as the Seeker kept walking forward, she kept her eye on the elf as she listened to the other woman say, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I'll take her to the rift.”

Stepping sideways so Cassandra would be blocking the movement of her mouth - best to be careful if their prisoner was a rogue, since many were trained to read lips - Leliana asked in an undertone, “You're certain?”

“Do you doubt me?” replied Cassandra, one eyebrow arched.

Flicking her eyes back towards their prisoner before returning them to her fellow Hand, she replied, “Only in perhaps your zeal to discover what happened and not merely someone to blame.” A hardness took over Cassandra's face as she said that and Leliana frowned. “Cassandra…”

“Go to the forward camp,” gritted the woman out between bared teeth. She then started to turn away but paused, her eyes seeming darker, as she hissed under her breath, “She will make it to the rift.”

There was a distinct feeling of _fact_ to that statement, like it was a thing to surely be, so Leliana bowed her head slightly in return. She looked at the prisoner again, the elf watching them with narrowed eyes while she quietly shifted her hand around - searching for weaknesses in the shackles binding her she realized. Then she nodded to cassandra and turned on a heel, striding up and out of the dungeon and into the main hall of the Chantry.

The cold air was harsh as she stepped out into it but her armor was warm and she was about to be moving. Leliana turned her eyes towards the Breach in the distance for a moment before she took her bow and quiver from her scout that had been waiting outside the Chantry door. “We go to the forward camp,” she told him. “Spread the word.”

“Yes, Nightingale,” he replied in a murmur, one hand thumping over his heart before he dashed away to spread the word to what few of her scouts were still in Haven and not up the mountain.

Leliana didn't watch him go. Instead she slung her bow over her shoulder, secured her quiver at her hip, and started moving.

Before she reached the stairs that would lead her out of the sight of the Chantry, she turned back in time to see the prisoner step out with Cassandra.

No matter what else the woman might be, her look of shock and awe at the full sight of the Breach was real.

She was innocent of that crime. Others that she had found reports of...well, that perhaps remained to be seen.

Nodding to herself, Leliana turned away and started moving swiftly. Three more of her scouts joined her by the time she was at the main gate and as one they silently turned towards the forward camp and _ran._

They had already delayed long enough with having to wait until their prisoner had woken up. There was no time to waste now.


	5. Solas : “You closed the rift."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Solas muses on Meryell (and the Mark) before and after finally meeting her while awake.

He felt her as she climbed the hill, the echo of his old power a distinct background noise. Solas spun his staff around to slam the heavy iron-shod head down into a fallen demon's skull and dared a glance back over his shoulder.

Soon. Soon he would know just what sort of echo of the Elvhen she was.

He had hoped to do so after she had finally awoken but her state had still been half-delirious then. From being a non-mage in the Fade, he'd told the Seeker, if the Commander's report of her falling out of a rift was true. It was as likely an explanation as anything since the raw mortal mind was little prepared for such without the buffer of magical ability between them and it.

Then the scout had bolted into the room, clutching a bloodstained missive from the field. It had been a quick report, full of casualties and continued losses in the Commander's hand - still remarkably sure despite the stress he was certainly  under . That one thing had set the whole of Haven into a frenzy and he had done what he could to bring tempers back down.

Including volunteering to go up the mountain himself alongside the  _ durgen’len _ Varric and whatever few men were left in Haven that could be spared. Leaving him merely hoping that the woman would make it up the hill in the wake of the Seeker’s wrath and the cold gaze of the Nightingale.

She was the  _ key _ , perhaps, to fixing what he had inadvertently done.

“More fucking demons! You didn’t mention there were  _ more _ of the shits, Seeker!”

Solas narrowed his eyes as he felt her move past him more than saw, his attention focused fully on a wraith that was far above the reach of any of the soldiers. As he spun his staff, casting sweep after sweep of fire towards it, he kept his eye on her as she leapt undaunted into the battle despite her shout.

And noted absently that she sounded  _ very _ Ferelden with a touch of influence from other accents flavoring her tone. Was she a  _ flat ear _ as the Dalish tended to call their city kin? One who had left a life with humans behind and turned her eyes to serving a culture that got so very much wrong?

The few Dalish Clans that he had attempted to speak with over the years had perhaps a touch of the native Ferelden accent but nothing so much as she. Whatever she was, he knew she was no Dalish elf by birth. Perhaps that would make speaking to her easier, given that there would be no knowledge of how things worked embedded into her mind.

She did, however, have the same brutal efficiency in battle that he had noticed of the Dalish. With her and the addition of the Seeker, it did not take long for the demons to be slain and  _ now _ was the time. To show this one what she could do. To show her the  _ power _ she wielded.

“Quickly!” he barked sharply as he stalked towards her through the snow. She looked at him, eyes green and  _ sharp _ over the black-gray of Mythal’s branches across her cheeks, as he reached for her arm. The  _ whip-snap _ of connection very nearly caught him entirely off guard, his own power recognizing him and reaching for him with a fervor he hadn’t quite expected. Solas pushed past it and continued, “Before more come through!”

“ _ The fuuuuuuuuu… _ ” she began, her voice trailing off into a surprised yelp of pain as the connection snapped together between the Mark and the rift above them. Two magics of the same source recognizing each other,  _ talking _ to each other, in a way that made him ache for the days when magic merely  _ was _ . The rift, which was far lesser in the wake of the power of the Mark, crackled several times before it snapped shut and the woman jerked her wrist away from him.

“The fucking  _ fuck _ was that?” she exclaimed, her right hand coming up to cradle her left. Her ears twitched in obvious distress as she stared at him before turning to glare at the Seeker. “What the shit is this?”

“You closed the rift,” replied Solas, able to find calm again now that he wasn’t touching her. He could still feel the magic in her hand, like an old and distant song, but it wasn’t the nearly incapacitating feeling that actual connection brought. More time to adjust, perhaps, was needed before he was capable of ignoring her so readily.

He had not been awake again overlong, after all.

The woman stared at him for a long moment before she said, “I did the  _ what _ ?”

Sighing, Solas gestured towards the Breach in the distance and intoned firmly, “Whatever magic was used to open the hole in the sky also placed that Mark upon your hand. I have theorized over many days that it might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the wake of the Breach. Though this is the first time we’ve been able to test such a thing.”

She was staring down at her hand now, her right hand still cradling it as she stared at the ‘gash’ that glowed through the glove covering her palm.

“Meaning it  _ could  _ close the Breach itself,” commented the Seeker, her voice filled with surprise and hope.

“Possibly,” he agreed with a slight nod towards her. He then turned to smile at the woman and said, “It seems you may hold the key to our salvation.”

_ That _ made her startle and she looked up with wide eyes. Then her brow furrowed and she dropped her hands to her sides, clenching her fists so hard that he could hear the leather of her gloves creak.

“I already said I’d fucking help,” she growled between bared teeth. He blinked back at her and started to open his mouth when the dwarf decided that it was apparently time to speak his piece.

“Good to know!” commented Varric as he fiddled with the sleeves of his coat. “I thought we were going to be ass-deep in demons forever.” He then looked up, grinning rakishly as he moved forward towards the woman. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

Solas could see her arch her eyebrows then her mouth twitched into a smile as she said, “Meryell.” Then, “Let me guess...not a Chantry heel?”

The disgusted noise that the Seeker made along with the question had him chuckling and asking, “Is that a serious question?”

“Easy, Chuckles,” chided the dwarf with a smile. “She just woke up. Gotta be a bit disoriented.” Varric then winked at the elven woman and replied, “Technically I’m a prisoner like you.”

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,” interrupted Cassandra, sounding annoyed. “Clearly that is no longer necessary. Your... _ help _ ...is appreciated, Varric, but...”

Varric scoffed and interrupted, harshly asking, “Have you  _ been _ in the valley lately, Seeker? Chuckles and I have. Much as I give credit to Curly, your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You  _ need _ me.”

He then folded his arms across his chest and added, “Not to mention I  _ volunteered _ to come up here.”

As the Seeker sighed heavily and growled a  _ Very well _ out from between her teeth, Solas looked at the female elf Meryell again as she was watching the other two. Gesturing at himself to draw her attention, he said, “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

Her ears flicked in clear annoyance at that - ah, how wondrous it was to still see the reactions in some, so many had lost the ability - and spat, “That had better not be a damned slight on my skills.”

“No, no,” said Varric before he could reply, “he means  _ I kept that mark from killing you while you slept _ .”

Solas watched as Meryell took that in and had the grace to huff out a curse under her breath - in  _ Elvish _ of all things - before she said, “Shit. Sorry. I…” She frowned for a moment before she nodded to him and finished, “Thanks.”

Cassandra scoffed from where she stood away from them and kicked out at a set of boards that were nailed across the path that would lead them onward. “We are wasting time!” she called out to them. When the soldiers around them stood up, she called out, “No, we go on our own. Rest now that the rift is closed and be ready to hold this position if need be.”

There were several disappointed nods from around them but Solas had no focus for them. They were merely...ghosts. Shadows pattering through a world that had once been so much  _ more _ than it was now. So much more than  _ he _ had made it.

Shaking his head, he gestured ahead of them and asked the woman, “Shall we?”

Meryell let out a snort in reply before she shrugged, saying, “Whatever floats your boat across Calenhad,” as she stomped after the Seeker. Solas watched her go for a moment before he hummed softly, realizing that Varric was still with him.

“Bit of a firestarter, that one,” commented the dwarf with a laugh before he followed.

“Very much a mystery,” mused Solas aloud as he brought up the rear of the group, feeling the echoes of his magic moving ahead of him.

Now that he had shown her a glimpse of the power, what would she do with it?

He was eager to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I became of the mind that Solas could, very likely, get somewhat of a sense of the Mark as well as the foci. Since they both contain his power and all. Hence...this.


	6. Varric : “Guess we'll see how it'll work out."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Meryell drink and talk in the Singing Maiden one night in Haven and Varric curiously observes them.

Out of all the things he'd seen in his life - and he'd seen some pretty weird  _ shit _ thanks to Hawke - what had been going on for the past few weeks might be the strangest. Well,  _ one _ of the strangest.

Varric leaned back in his chair, cracking his knuckles as he sat his quill aside to let his ink dry for a minute. This also, of course, allowed him to observe the pair that were tucked one of the Singing Maiden’s corners near the side door.

Curly and Swears sat there, their chairs tucked close together and a pair of bottles between them alongside two heavy looking mugs. It wasn't an overt closeness but more the simple fact that that was the only position that they could both sit with their backs entirely to the wall. She was telling some sort of obviously interesting story, her hands ever moving in vague gestures to illustrate whatever she was talking about. And he was sitting there with an amused smile on his face, his eyes never straying from her.

Varric was tempted to call the expression  _ smitten  _ but he'd never pair such a thing with Kirkwall’s former Knight-Captain. Not the man who told Hawke to her face that mages weren't people once upon a time.

Though, since getting dragged bodily out of Kirkwall, he'd started reassessing the man. Curly was honestly a good sort - he'd never turned in Hawke, after all, and he'd  _ had _ to have known she was a mage that first time they met - but he'd never been a friend. Not to Varric anyway. Hawke called him an acquaintance purely on the fact that he was one of the few templars in the Gallows who would actually talk to her.

Though him and  _ Swears _ ? That straight-laced, toe the line unless it absolutely needs crossing templar actually being interested in the rough-and-tumble elf who'd come falling out of a rift? She seemed to be everything Curly wasn't: rude, a little brash, unashamedly filthy minded (just from the few jokes she'd told so far), and cussed like she was getting paid coin for it.

It sounded more like something he'd come up with for a story.

And yet, there they were, tucked together like they were thick as thieves.

He'd had that conversation with Curly a little while back but he had more been  _ reaching  _ than actually talking about something concrete. Mostly because he had just so happened to catch the two of them sitting on those barrels in the hours after his loss at Wicked Grace. So maybe he hadn't been talking out or his ass after all.

For once.

“...and then  _ bam! _ ” Swears crowed loudly as she slapped her hand on top of the table. “Trap.”

“No,” Curly said with a laugh, shaking his head, “he didn't really walk into that.”

“Like he was taking a stroll through a fucking park!”

“That's mad!”

That brought a bright laugh out of the elf and she shrugged before picking up her cup, saying airily, “That's my folks.”

At that Varric perked up a little, tilting his head to hear them a little better. Her folks? She hadn't said one word about having anyone else while he'd been around. Now  _ that  _ was interesting.

Did Curly know something about their foul-mouthed little Herald that no one else did?

Had Swears actually told him something about herself? Things she mostly kept from the rest of them?

Varric had never pictured the former templar being anyone's confidant but, then again, he'd never imagined him sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a woman like her. Or maybe not any woman  _ at all _ given how Curly had blushed years ago when they'd come across him in the Rose while on the hunt for wayward recruits.

Idly tapping his fingers against his chin, he picked up his quill again and started to turn back to his writing. Just before he dipped his quill in the ink, however, he caught Swears’ voice.

“Fuck. We've run dry. Another?”

“Maker, I  _ shouldn't _ .”

Lifting his eyes, he found Swears leaning her elbows on the table. She had her fingers laced together with her chin resting on them, her eyelashes fluttering.

“It's not like you didn't already put your men away.”

Curly grimaced before he laughed, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Maker’s breath, why does it sound  _ dirty _ when you say it like that?” he asked.

“Maybe I meant it to sound dirty,” replied Swears, fluttering her eyelashes again. Then she stopped being jokingly flirty and said, “Come the fuck on, Cullen. I'm heading out into the Hinterlands with Varric, Chuckles, and the Seeker in two days. Not to mention getting dragged into some shit or another before we leave but  _ no more fun _ . Give me one more night?”

There was silence for a moment then Curly dropped his voice a few octaves as he murmured, “You are a terrible influence.”

“I'm a fucking  _ amazing _ influence.”

That made an awkward little  _ bray _ of a laugh explode out of the man and Varric smothered a chuckle with his hand as Curly  said, “Fine, fine. But  _ only _ one more, dear thief.”

As Swears cheered and leapt up from the table, Varric arched his eyebrows.   _ Dear thief _ was it? That laid another level of interesting over this relationship of theirs.

He finally finished dipping his quill and went back to writing, using it as cover to watch them one last time while  _ they  _ weren't watching each  _ other _ .

Curly watched her walk across the tavern and if  _ that  _ wasn't the look of a man who might just want something he couldn't have, Varric would eat his...well, shit. He didn't have a beard, so that line didn't really work. The man quickly looked down, his eyes focused on his folded hands on top of the table as his cheek flushed brightly, when Swears turned briefly back towards him. 

When he did, Varric turned his attention towards her. Her face was flushed from drink but that wasn't what he was paying attention to. No, Swears had this look in her eyes that was shockingly similar to Curly’s. It had a hint of lust in it and something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Well then.

Maybe they were two of a kind after all.

Watching as they tucked themselves back into their corner, Curly laughing as Swears insisted she was fucking fine to pour their drinks before he plucked the bottle out of her hands, Varric smiled.

Swears seemed like a good kid for all of her rough-and-tumble nature and he hadn't been kidding when he said she reminded him of Hawke from those first years. And Curly...Maker, if any man deserved a bit of a break from utter  _ bullshit _ , it was him. How he'd put up with Meredith without going mad himself was still a question Varric was trying to figure out.

“Guess we'll see how it'll work out,” he muttered to himself with a smile, shaking his head as he finally turned back to his writing. He'd do what he could to keep the two of them on this maybe path they'd gotten on.

He really was a sucker for a good love story.


	7. Rylen : “Just a friend my fucking foot.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald of Andraste is leaving for the Hinterlands and Rylen takes it upon himself to do a little bit of prodding at Cullen about his relationship with her.

“You  _ like _ her.”

“What?” asked Cullen, an annoyed sounding bite to his voice as he leaned over the map laid out over his (for once) clean side table.

Rylen sighed and stepped into the tent, lowering his voice as he made a vague gesture back towards where the Herald and her party were getting ready to leave. “The Herald, you dense arse.”

“Meryell?” Cullen then shook his head as he said dismissively, “She's just a friend, old man.”

“Just a friend my fucking foot.”

“Maker, you and her would get along with your penchant for cursing.”

Rolling his eyes, Rylen grumbled, “Stop changing the subject. You can't fool me that you don't like her.”

Cullen sighed and planted his hands on the map, letting his head fall loosely on his neck as his mantled shoulders dropped slightly. “You're not going to let up, are you?” he asked, sounding slightly defeated.

“If I didn't bother you, you'd wonder what was wrong,” replied Rylen with a laugh. That brought an equal laugh out of the other man before he nodded his head several times. Before Cullen could say anything, he commented, “You don't look at her like you did Claudia.”

“Oh, do tell me how I look at her, old man.”

Shaking his head, Rylen replied, “You really want me to spell it out for you?”

Cullen lifted a hand from the map and made a vague  _ come at me _ gesture before placing it back down. His eyes were on the map but Rylen could tell that they weren't entirely focused on the notations of troops and supplies that were scattered over the parchment in the other man's neat handwriting.

“All right, how's this,” he began. “I used to have to practically  _ blackmail _ you to get you out of the Gallows for a drink.”

“ _ Coax _ .”

“Oh, it was blackmail and you know it. Then I had to almost tie you to a bench to keep you from running right back to work.”

“There was work that needed to be done,” Cullen began but Rylen cut him off with a sharp, “You were  _ killing _ yourself. Working to the dead hours of the morning, dropping into bed still half in your armor and bone tired, then getting up and doing it again.” He quickly pointed at the other man as Cullen started to open his mouth. “And don't tell me it was because Kirkwall needed you. I know what it was.”

He'd always been able to tell what drove Cullen. The man wore his guilt for his part in what had happened in Kirkwall around his shoulders just like the furry mantle he'd replaced templar steel with. Still did.

“You smart off to your Knight-Commander in Starkhaven like this?”

“Only when he was making a complete arse of himself,” replied Rylen with a grin.

Cullen tilted his head up, just enough that he could see one eye and an arched blonde brow. “Arse, is it?” he queried with something between a smirk and a frown.

“You're the one who invited me to call it like it is.”

Huffing a laugh, the other man nodded. “So I did. Fine. What's your point?”

Rylen just smirked, crossing his arms as he replied, “Point is that all our Herald has to do is show up at your tent and you're all  _ too eager _ to spend time in her company. Even when you do give token protest. I've noticed. The men have noticed.”

That had Cullen flushing, the red standing out starkly from his paler skin, and stammering back, “I...she...it's just getting to know her better. For morale.”

“You do the same with our pretty ambassador or absolutely terrifying spymaster?”

A growl answered him and that was all the confirmation Rylen needed. Stepping forward, he rested the heels of his hands against the edge of the table and dropped his voice to say, “I don't know what happened between you and Claudia and I don't have to. That stays between you.”

He paused for a moment then went on, “You're my friend as much as my commanding officer, Cullen. And this... _ whatever _ this is between you and her, it's good for you. Far better than you lurking in this damned tent counting supplies or suffering through another headache on your own .”

“Rylen,” Cullen growled warningly.

“Though, I mean, she's not  _ pretty.. _ .”

The twitch of Cullen's hands against the map, parchment crinkling slightly as his fingers tensed then relaxed, was enough of a response. Enough of a confirmation that he found the Herald attractive.

“Not in the traditional sense anyway,” he finished with a knowing smirk.

Cullen glared up at him under furrowed brows for a moment before he let out a huff of breath. He then straightened up to his full height, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword as he said sternly, “She's the Herald, Captain. We do her no favors by speaking like this behind her back.”

“Oh, you want me to tell her  _ directly _ that you like her?” Rylen asked with a broad grin.

“What?  _ No! _ Maker's breath, old man, you know exactly what I meant.”

“What I heard was confirmation that you like her.”

Cullen snorted before saying, “We should get your hearing checked then.”

Throwing up his hands, Rylen said, “Fine. Deny it all you want, Cullen, but I can see it. You just wait. One of these nights it's going to hit you in the face and you'll come crying to me saying  _ you were right, Rylen, you were right about everything _ .”

“Uh-huh.”

“You'll see.”

Cullen shook his head before he asked, “Shouldn't you be starting the next drill, Captain?” There was a stark finality to his tone that said very clearly that this conversation was over. 

Rylen was wise enough to know when he could press the man and when the wisest stopping point was. That tone said he'd reached that point so he straightened up, clasped a fist over his heart in a salute, and murmured, “Commander,” in a low voice before he turned and strode out.

The Herald was swinging into her saddle as he did so and her head turned in their direction as soon as she was upright. He nodded in her direction then strode towards their trainees when he heard Cullen's boots scuffle on the ground behind him. By the time the man emerged from his tent, Rylen was amongst the men and women, gathering them together to give them instructions for what they were doing next.

From within that press of bodies, he watched the Herald lift a hand in farewell, waving slightly, and the Commander return the gesture. Rylen could also see the flush in Cullen's cheeks and knew that it wasn't from the chilly air that clung to Haven since he had a brazier blazing out warmth in his tent.

_ Nothing going on my ass _ , he thought to himself before he fully turned his attention back to the task at hand: getting the sorry lot of recruits they had into fighting shape to defend the fledgling organization he'd followed Cullen into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do adore this headcanon that Rylen is the reliable friend that Cullen has around to give him a bit of a shove when he needs it. That they have this whole friendship underlying their positions as Knight-Commander/Knight-Captain and Commander/Captain and that Rylen knows when to push and when to back off and when is the time to be friend or soldier. Because good _gods_ does Cullen need that sometimes.


End file.
